


Gold Gets a Much-Needed Hug

by shalako



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Archie helps, Gold is touch starved, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and extremely lonely, and working under a self imposed vow of silence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 22:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12827877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shalako/pseuds/shalako
Summary: Gold has gone three days without speaking, and two months without physical contact.





	Gold Gets a Much-Needed Hug

**Author's Note:**

> Clearing out my Google Docs. I don't think this really counts as a full story but it's a cute little drabble I found, and I liked it, so I figured I'd post it, too.

Gold had gone three days without speaking so far, and about two months without any physical contact. He struggled to remember what had happened two months ago and came up with a vague memory of a tenant shaking his hand. Two weeks before that, someone had bumped into him on the road, which counted as contact, and about three months before  _ that _ , Gold had shaken someone else’s hand, too.

He hadn’t even realized about the speaking, though, until some wrong number called and left a voicemail, reminding Gold brutally that no one had actually spoken to him for days. He deleted the voicemail with a sigh.

It was almost November, which was the only reason Gold even noticed these things. His house didn’t heat up well - he’d gone to bed last night under two quilts, wearing a thick sweater and keeping his head under the blankets so his face didn’t freeze. During the day, he couldn’t seem to warm up at all, was constantly shivering, and it was inevitable that his thoughts turned to other people. Other people were, generally speaking, horrible, but at least they produced heat.

God, he needed …. Gold struggled to form the words, even mentally. His mind skidded clumsily over images of other people and landed instead on the idea of an enormous teddy bear, the kind they sold in stores around Valentine’s Day. Gold couldn’t buy a hug -- not without a great deal of embarrassment -- but he could buy a teddy bear online, anonymously, and have it delivered to his door in a nondescript package. Nobody would know.

It became a matter of fantasy. Sometimes, when he was a little drunk and more than a little lonely, Gold would open his rarely-used computer and browse through pages of stuffed animals on Amazon, trying to figure out which would be best. But inevitably, his thoughts would turn to the warmth and comfort of other people.

He closed his eyes and imagined stumbling into someone on the street so that their arms touched, warm through the cloth of their coats. Maybe one of them would fall and the other would help them off the ground, palms touching. Skin-on-skin contact. Gold was starting to crave it; he hadn’t had sex in years and didn’t miss it, but God, he missed being touched.

He was starting to creep himself out a little, to be frank. 

Before work, he closed his eyes and gave himself a stern, calm talking-to. He did not need to obsess over this. If he just stopped thinking about it, it would go away.

Like it always did.

* * *

The heating in the shop was broken. Gold adjusted the thermostat no less than three times, unable to believe what his senses were telling him. It was as cold behind the counter as it was outside on the street.

When the third adjustment of the thermostat yielded nothing, Gold turned and looked around the back room he used as an office (and sometimes, when his house seemed too large and empty, as a bedroom). In the cupboard, where he kept a spare blanket for the bed, was an old cardigan, made of thick, black wool. Gold shucked off his thin suit jacket and put the cardigan on over his shirt. He looked at his overcoat, genuinely considering adding it to the mix.

The bell over the front door rang and Gold swore under his breath, pulling the cardigan tighter around him. It was cold to the touch and it seemed futile that it would ever warm him up.

In the main shop, Miss Blanchard was looking around with a lost expression on her face. She ignored Gold, wandering over to a small shelf filled with antique tea-sets. After a minute or so, when Gold started rubbing his hands together for warmth, Miss Blanchard glanced over and glued her eyes to his cardigan, looking spooked by it.

Gold tried to make eye contact with her so he could deliver a scathing glare, but Miss Blanchard steadfastly avoided his gaze. She turned back to the shelf before her and lifted a teapot, examining it from all sides.

Gold’s fingers were pale and cold, with a chilblain developing on his thumb. He rubbed it absentmindedly, part of him enjoying the dull pain.

Miss Blanchard didn’t end up buying anything. She left without saying a word to him, and Gold didn’t say a word to her, either. He tried to figure out how many days of silence he was up to, not counting when he’d whispered “fuck”. 

It didn’t matter. He was in for a long day.

* * *

The hug took him by surprise. Gold had been minding his own business, locking the pawnshop as a group of noisy, drunken friends staggered past. He wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying; he just knew that when he turned around, Dr. Hopper was standing right in front of him with an odd look in his eyes and a tipsy smile, and the next thing Gold knew, he was being hugged.

“Oi!” Gold jerked back, but Hopper just hugged him tighter. Gold’s face was pressed uncomfortably into Hopper’s shoulder; he could smell musky cologne. There was a burst of laughter from the other people gathered around and Gold snarled, struggling to get away. 

“Come on,” Hopper said, not letting go. His words were slurred. “Hugs are nice.”

“Fuck off,” Gold said. He tried to pull back and, when he failed, just let out a frustrated sigh.

“Everyone deserves a hug now and then,” said Hopper. Gold closed his eyes in exasperation. “When was the last time you got a hug?”

“Hopper,” said Gold, “fuck off. Now.”

Hopper gave him a tight squeeze.

“I’m raising your rent,” Gold threatened.

“This is worth it,” said Hopper. “Friendly contact has to last at least twenty seconds before it releases endorphins.”

“That’s complete  _ bullshit _ !” Gold said, his voice muffled by Hopper’s chest. “And it’s  _ been  _ twenty seconds!”

Hopper’s friends laughed again, but they were moving farther down the road, already losing interest. Gold felt the blood rush to his face when the group turned a corner, leaving him alone with Hopper.

“You’re supposed to receive friendly physical contact,” said Hopper, “at least seven times a day, to be healthy.”

Gold sighed.

“But I was thinking today that most single people don’t really get seven opportunities for friendly contact in a day,” said Hopper. “And I figured, I’m single and you’re single, so we might as well help each other out.”

A wrinkle appeared between Gold’s eyebrows. He craned his neck, struggling to look Hopper in the eye. “The fuck did you just say?”

Hopper hummed. “I said we’re both single.”

Gold closed his eyes again. “Please stop hugging me,” he said. A wave of heat rushed to his face and he realized with a jolt of horror that he was, for no reason he could think of, on the verge of tears.

“Twenty more seconds,” Hopper said. “Then I’ll let go.”

Gold’s face crumpled. He tried to send his thoughts far away and realized dimly that his breathing was getting harsh, maybe even audible. One of Hopper’s hands rubbed up and down across Gold’s back.

“It’s okay,” Hopper said. “I’m sure it’s been a while. It’s okay to get emotional.”

Gold huffed. “I’m not --”

A tear blazed its way down his cheek, leaving a trail that felt vaguely like it was on fire. Gold huffed again and then squeezed his eyes shut; his chest felt tight, and the tears were coming quickly now. He sniffed as quietly as he could, praying that it would end soon, that he would look composed again when Hopper let go. He was so glad Hopper’s friends had walked away, hoped desperately that Hopper was drunk enough not to remember this in the morning.

“I’m guessing it’s been awhile since you had a hug,” Hopper said sympathetically. Gold just sniffed again. He managed to get an arm unpinned and brought it up to wipe his face, letting out a shuddering breath.

“I’m not crying,” he said, voice and accent embarrassingly thick. 

“I never said you were,” said Hopper. Gold froze for a moment before realizing Hopper was right, and then all the fight went out of him and he leaned into the hug, pressing his face into the crook of Hopper’s shoulder.

It had been far longer than 20 seconds, Gold suspected.

And it had been a while since he’d had a hug.

When they finally moved away from each other, maybe a minute or so later, Hopper was still smiling that same tipsy smile, looking down at Gold with unabashed affection.

“Goddamn it,” Gold said, wiping his eyes. “Stop looking at me.”

“You liked it,” said Hopper triumphantly.

“You’re drunk,” Gold replied. He missed the warmth already. He was starting to shiver again. “That was completely -- completely nonconsensual, by the way.”

“You liked it,” said Hopper again, clearly satisfied with himself. He grabbed Gold’s arm and started walking. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Gold followed, Hopper’s words drowned out by his extreme focus on Hopper’s fingers, bleeding warmth through Gold’s coat.

“Okay,” Gold said.


End file.
